


Thirteen Reasons Why Requests

by mischiefsloth



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV), Thirteen Reasons Why - Jay Asher
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-10 07:32:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17421698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischiefsloth/pseuds/mischiefsloth
Summary: One shot requests are open!





	1. Requests

  * I'm willing to write most pairings, but the ones tagged are my personal preferences.
  * I will not write rape/non-con.
  * I will not write character/reader.
  * Trigger warnings & tags will be added as necessary. 



Please comment with requests! Most of my writing experience is through rp, but I'd love to expand into fan fiction and my ambitious multi-chapter ideas are too daunting so I'm dipping my toes in with this. Any genre/character from the book or series is welcome!


	2. Third time lucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clay reflects on his love life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave fic requests in the comments of chapter one.  
> This chapter is rated T and features established Clay Jensen/Tony Padilla, with the briefest nod to Justin Foley/Alex Standall.  
> Any feedback is much appreciated!

Clay Jensen has had three crushes in his life so far. 

The first was in middle school. She had braces, but he decided he didn’t mind that because she also had the cutest splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and could recite the opening monologue from The Fellowship of the Ring from memory. She had three classes with him and a locker in the bay across from his, and she always smiled at him when they happened to be there at the same time. Which happened most days.... Clay made sure of it. In the sacred time between arriving for class and the teacher calling for quiet they’d talk, and by lunch Clay would have analyzed every word spoken and come to the conclusion that he’d sounded like a complete and total idiot the entire time.

Jenn Stilton. His first crush.

The second he met through Kat, the only girl he knew that understood the true brilliance of Star Wars but who he somehow still couldn’t bring himself to fall for. He’d heard the girl’s voice before the first time he saw her, and he heard it after the last time, too, as if the universe wanted to bookend the tragedy. It was even the same words: _I’m sorry_. That first time, it was chased by the best laugh Clay had ever heard, though he never learned who she’d been so blithely apologizing to, or why. _Sorry_. She hadn’t laughed after saying it the last time, over the static hiss on that cassette tape. And she wouldn’t laugh ever again.

Hannah Baker. His second crush.

He knew it was strange, to reach seventeen years old with a grand total of two crushes. But it wasn’t as if he didn’t notice other girls. He noticed them. He liked them. And he noticed the boys, too, which probably didn’t do much to help the gay rumors that grew around him in freshman year. It had all felt a little… unoriginal. He was awkward, bookish, _soft_. He kept to himself and never tried anything with girls at parties. In fact, he didn’t even _go_ to parties. A classic closet case, right?

But he wasn’t gay. He knew that label didn’t fit any better than a letterman jacket would. He liked girls. And if he liked guys too… well, it was 2018, who even cared about that stuff anymore?

Tony Padilla _wasn’t_ a classic closet case. He wasn’t awkward, and he certainly wasn’t soft. He was _cool_ , with his red mustang and leather jacket, his fingers rough from handling ratchets and drills, and bruised from fistfights. And yet apparently everyone had accepted his homosexuality without so much as a murmur. Well, everyone except dumb-ass, oblivious Clay Jensen, who thought the only reason a guy could care so deeply about Hannah was because he wanted her.

Tony was comfortable with himself in a way Clay could only marvel at. He knew who he was, and what he wanted to be. And he was the only person in the world that Clay trusted implicitly. He was also _beautiful_. He didn’t have freckles across his nose or a melodious laugh, but he had those rough hands, and eyes that sparkled like the stars on a clear night. When he smiled, it reminded Clay of the sun breaking through clouds. He was _Tony_. And it might have taken two crushes and one Skye Miller for him to register how his chest ached in this intense, satisfying way when Tony was near him, and in this awful, agonizing way when his texts and facetime attempts went ignored for days, but slowly, gradually he did. He began to understand what Skye had meant about dancing on the edge of a cliff, but even though he knew the fall might break him, he couldn’t stop marveling at the beautiful view.

Tony Padilla, his third crush.

And finally, the colloquialism made sense. That feeling, it was crushing. Almost more emotion than he could bear.

He’d made a promise to himself, that he would never allow fear to keep him from speaking his truth again. He’d failed Hannah, let her leave without knowing there was another choice, and while Tony didn’t have _handle with care_ stamped on him like she had, he knew better now than to think he could really know the truth about someone else’s heart. He knew how even things that seemed durable could shatter into sharp little shards, like hard plastic meeting dry ice.

He couldn’t risk that again. So he’d told Tony the truth - awkwardly, in a rambling, probably barely coherent barrage of affection. _Uh, so you know, like…_

But Tony had understood. He always did. That had been the beginning, though, much to his disappointment, Tony hadn’t immediately kissed him, leaving him weak-kneed and elated. He’d nodded, and thanked him for his _honesty_ , of all the fucking infuriating things, and driven him home while his newest mixtape filled the space between them. Halfway there, Tony had taken his hand. And that had been it.

Clay had told Justin about it first, and only because his adopted brother had pouted so pathetically when he told him that he couldn’t see a movie with him the night of Tony and his first real date. He’d needed to give Justin a reason, and the truth was as good a one as any. The reveal was… anticlimactic. A shrug, and a _so_ , and a _why does that mean I can’t come? You’re always hanging out with me and Alex…_

Clay hadn't been sure if he should correct Justin's grammar or pull him into a hug. He’d compromised with an eyeroll and a _shut up._

The rest of their unlikely little group couldn’t be left out of the loop for long. They were all in the process of learning to trust again, and any secrets felt like betrayal. Jessica had hugged him and laughed in a way that was almost victorious, and Clay was stricken by a sudden paranoia that bets had been won and lost with their confession. Zach had taken it in stride, with a nod and a _cool man, glad you guys are happy_. Sheri’s smile had been almost sad, but she hugged him too, and then sweetly threatened them both with bodily harm if they hurt each other.

It was strange, letting Tony guide him back to feeling happy. There was still guilt that gnawed at his insides, an incessant whisper that told him he wasn’t doing enough, that he did not deserve this. But it was dulled now, a background noise all but drowned out by the beautiful symphony that was Tony’s love for him. Being with Tony meant sitting shotgun in his mustang, parked in what had become their spot on that edge overlooking Evergreen. It was mixtapes and coffees at Monet’s and watching Tony work on engines in the shop because it beat being at home, missing him. It was all the stuff they’d done before, only better, because now their time together included kissing, which Clay had come to realize was his favorite thing to do.

With Hannah, a kiss had been their acme. Skye’s lips had been a respite. But with Tony, there was no feeling like the moment was porcelain, so delicate that one careless touch would break it. It felt safe. It felt _good_. And when they were alone together, Clay didn’t feel ghosts watching on with judgmental gazes. Even when he was exposed, naked and vulnerable, the tremors of his body were only ever from pleasure. Well, maybe not the first time, when he’d been certain Tony’s stare would catch on every imperfection, that he’d see disappointment cloud the desire in his eyes. He’d let Tony look anyway, refusing to hide beneath blankets or in total darkness. That moment, he’d figured, was no time to let fear make him a coward.

Tony had always taken control with a calm, abiding authority. Clay was shy about sex, tentative, but Tony knew just the right moves, and sometimes Clay felt like one of his tricky engines, the kind only Tony had that patience to tune.

He’d assumed, based on a few hours research that he’d die before admitting to doing, that he knew pretty well what to expect the night he lost his virginity to Tony. He should have known better, should have known the universe would always conspire to make his sex life humiliating. Though, if he was honest, he had to take some personal responsibility as well. He’d made assumptions. Tony was masculine, and Clay was… _Clay_. Hardly a paradigm of virility. He knew what that meant, for two men. He’d seen enough representations on Netflix, and more than a few videos on Pornhub. But it turned out he’d been lied to. It turned out you couldn’t guess what someone wanted in the bedroom based on what they liked outside of it.  

Just when he thought he’d left assumptions and judgments in the past, he proved Justin right again … he really was a _dumb-ass_.

But that night had been beautiful, once the pink had faded from his cheeks and been replaced by a flush of another kind. Tony’s hand had slipped into his as they became one, and Clay had felt him squeeze it - a warm, gentle pressure to match the other, more exquisite one.

Clay had thought he’d wake up the next morning profoundly changed, the last of what remained of his childhood innocence lost in the joining of bodies. But when he opened his eyes it was to the same celestial poster above his bed, on the same mattress he’d slept in every night before, and he didn’t feel any older, any wiser. He did feel _warmer_ , with Tony’s arm draped over him, and his breath tickling the skin on his neck. It wasn’t abysmal, but it was something.

No, it was _everything_.

To share this bed and this body with his best friend, to love and be loved without limits. Hannah had called it infinity, and though it felt like a betrayal to use her words now, on a love that she would never see, he thought she would forgive him for it.  

She had been his second crush. Jenn Stilton had been his first. Tony Padilla had been his third - and that was _charmed_ , so people said. Lucky. Clay told himself he was too logical, too cynical, to believe a third crush might be his last, but maybe there was some truth in the proverb. Of the endless multitude of faces he’d seen, people he’d known, Tony was the first to fight his way through Clay’s defenses. Not with swinging fists, though Tony had enough practice with those, but with kept promises and a constant presence, a guardian angel in flesh and blood.

And Clay was sensible enough to know that made him pretty damn lucky.


End file.
